


The Courtesan [what have you done remix]

by neomeruru



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Courtesan!AU, Alternate Universe - Dystopian Future, Angst, Arranged Marriage, M/M, Missing Scene, Pining, With Permission from Original Author, domestic abuse, dubcon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-23
Updated: 2017-03-23
Packaged: 2018-10-09 20:23:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10420935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neomeruru/pseuds/neomeruru
Summary: A look at what happens to Viktor between Chapter 11 and 14 ofThe Courtesan.Spoiler: it's not great.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bondageluvr (haganenoheichou)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/haganenoheichou/gifts).
  * Inspired by [The Courtesan](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8694907) by [haganenoheichou](https://archiveofourown.org/users/haganenoheichou/pseuds/haganenoheichou). 



> Inspired, with only love in my heart and with permission from the original author, by [The Courtesan](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8694907). A look at what happens to Viktor between Chapter 11 and 14. Contains spoilers through Chapter 14, and absolutely doesn't stand alone - please read the original first!
> 
> If you missed the tags, this fic describes an arranged marriage of dubious consent and includes non-graphic descriptions of domestic abuse and coercive sexual situations. These interactions are _non-canon_ and neither they, nor the fic as a whole, reflect the trajectory of the original fic, wherever it may go from here.
> 
> A big thank you, of course, to the original author, for allowing me to play in their sandbox! Enjoy!

It's snowing when Viktor leaves the House for the first and last time.

He'd risen early to bathe and dress in his least ostentatious robe - dark grey underlayer, a subtle black-on-black pattern of cranes in flight on the outer robe, a grey sash. His face is clean. With his hair unadorned and pinned back in a braided knot at the nape of his neck, he could almost pass for a citizen of the System.

Thinking about his clothes keeps his mind off of what he leaves behind.

He'd warred with bathing. Romantically, selfishly, he thought he couldn't bear to wash away the feeling of Yuuri on his body. But he also couldn't bear the idea of carrying any part of Yuuri into his new life — not just for Viktor's own sake, but for Yuuri's. The System didn't deserve any part of him. And so he'd scrubbed and scrubbed, his pale skin going first pink and then red, scoured clean.

Purged.

Regardless, he feels the phantom presence of his apprentice — his love, his heart cries in his chest — as he walks beside Okukawa Minako through the front courtyard to the gates. The imprint of Yuuri's teeth is indelible on the inside of his lips, the faint tracks of Yuuri's nails like a penitent's lashes on his back. He tucks the knowledge of these small hurts into his hungry mouth and swallows, feeling them lodge between his ribs.

The Senator is waiting outside the gate, perfectly still. His assistant, Sakamoto, holds a large black umbrella over him, which the Senator takes as Viktor approaches.

" _My radiant star_ ," he greets him, in an old Earth language. Viktor doesn't speak it — no one does any longer, other than for showing off their education — but he's picked up enough affectations of the rich to know. Viktor extends his hand and the Senator bows over it, pressing his lips chastely to Viktor's knuckles.

"My lord," Viktor murmurs, letting his hand drop lightly when the Senator releases it.

"I've thought of nothing but you all night," the Senator continues smoothly. Dangerous, to know the truth. He offers his arm to Viktor, and Viktor places his hand in the crook of his elbow. "Words cannot say how overjoyed I am that you decided to accept my proposal."

The breath in Viktor's throat feels thick, cloying like a mouthful of honey. He feels himself smile. "It was my honour and my pleasure to accept, my lord," he manages, despite himself.

Out of the corner of his eye, Viktor can see Sakamoto watching them. The expression on the man's face is unreadable, the fact of which pierces Viktor, with all his acumen, right in the part of his brain that recognizes danger. A cold feeling trickles down his spine, unrelated to the snow chill that seeps through his silk-soled shoes.

Minako clears her throat, and Viktor and the Senator turn to her. The unpleasant feeling in Viktor's stomach deepens, and he hopes she doesn't intend to become sentimental on him now. Their relationship has never been warm — not since she auctioned off his virginity at sixteen to a man whose face he hardly remembers now. Not that Viktor carries a grudge — the gardens and residences purchased with his body are truly spectacular. But one carries a detachment, all the same.

She addresses the Senator, after all. "This House thanks you for your patronage, my lord," she says, bowing deeply with her hands folded in her lap, "and wishes you many happy years with your new Spouse."

"Thank you, Okukawa-san," the Senator replies. He doesn't return the bow, just inclines his head slightly. "My compliments to the House."

Minako rises from her bow and, to his surprise, gives another, shorter one to Viktor. "Fare well, Viktor. Thank you for your lifetime of service."

The cloying pressure in his throat closes in, threatening to choke him. Viktor can feel his smile tighten. There are words behind his teeth, unkind words. In the liminal space between obliging Courtesan and obedient Spouse, perhaps he could be justified in letting them free.

The moment passes. The hurt ebbs.

Minako looks up at him from her bow, an awkward set to her lips. There's pleasure to be taken in silence, Viktor thinks, as she straightens. "Safe travels, Senator."

 

The robemaker arrives at the Senator's house the day after their return. She's an old thing, of stooped back and round face, eyes and mouth lined with scowling wrinkles. She has Viktor stand on her portable stool as the Senator's servants line up mirrors in an impromptu dressing room.

The chill turns his arms and legs to gooseflesh as she turns him this way and that, measuring his naked body with professional disdain. She clicks her tongue at the divot of his waist, complaining under her breath at how it doesn't match at all with this planet's fashions, how Viktor will need padded undergarments to fill him out if the Senator expects to take him anywhere he'll be seen by anyone important.

Viktor catches the Senator's eye in one of the mirrors. The Senator is nearly reclined in an armchair, a glass of amber alcohol in his hand as he watches. Viktor licks his lips and desires — not the man, but the luxury of alcohol that is undoubtedly real.

It's all the same to the Senator, though; Viktor watches his gaze darken, and as the robemaker finally gives him leave to drop his arms, he cocks his hip out so his rear looks — well, he knows how it looks.

The robemaker makes a noise of disgust as she pulls out a book of fabric swatches. She doesn't even bother showing them to Viktor, just gives it straight to the Senator. "What colours?"

The Senator regards the book for a few seconds. "Nothing too light," he says, flipping it to the darker swatches. "A dove grey, at the lightest, for summer. Black, of course; charcoal, dark grey, both the light and the dark navy. Undergarments in white is fine, as many as he'll need. Silver and grey accents, only."

The robemaker whistles and takes back the book. "A full wardrobe? I'm not even going to tell you what that costs."

"He has nothing," the Senator says, swirling the ice cubes in his drink. "The House purchased back the clothing he'd acquired. It lowered his cost considerably."

Viktor wraps his arms around himself and doesn't look at his bartered body in the mirror. His toes curl into the edge of the plush dressing stool.

"I'll put in the order," the robemaker says, turning away from the Senator and dismissing him with her hand. Viktor marvels quietly at her gall, but the Senator just stands and drains his glass, and carries it with him as he leaves, bidding Viktor to come find him when he's done.

The robemaker largely ignores him as she fills out the requisition, making notes for the atelier on cut and size. The chill turns into a shiver, and he tentatively steps down from the stool. He has no robe other than the one he came in yesterday, not until Sakamoto returns with some provisional off the rack robes, and it seems a waste to put it all on again when he'll be taking it off again in moments.

The robemaker looks up and peers at him, assessing. She gestures to one of the chests she'd brought, which is open to a pile of luxurious white fur backed with a firm silk. "Really," Viktor questions, running his hands over the fine material. "Thank you," he says, quietly.

"It's just fabric," the robemaker says, still disdainful, and Viktor gratefully pulls out the length and wraps it around his shoulders. It's not fashionable, but it's warm.

"Come here," the robemaker orders, and Viktor forgoes preening to come stand beside her. She reaches into her bag and pulls out another swatch book, handing it to Viktor. "Go through this and choose your lining."

Viktor takes the book and sits in the armchair, letting it fall open in his lap. Inside is a dizzying array of patterned fabric — all still passably neutral, but as Viktor flips through the pages of silk he sees patterns of all kinds, from simple geometrics to actual florals.

"Are all these…?" he starts, but doesn't know how to finish. This isn't System.

"Linings, only," the robemaker repeats, firmly. "I've clothed enough pampered Spouses like you to know you need a little frivolity in your lives," she sneers, but the curve of her cheek from the back hints at a smile. "Like little birds."

He doesn't cry. He hasn't cried, not this whole time: not during the Senator's proposal, not in leaving Yuuri, not in the space car when the Senator spread his legs and asked politely if Viktor wouldn't mind telling him again exactly how grateful he was.

But it's close.

"Sounds like this is coming out of your allowance," the robemaker says, not looking up from her notes. Viktor is grateful for the privacy. "You may as well pick what you like."

Viktor rubs a swatch between thumb and forefinger. It's a blue-green, with a lighter repeating wave pattern. It reminds him of Yuuri, and the thought almost makes it impossible to speak. "I — I have my own money," he says.

The robemaker snorts, an indelicate sound for her bent fine-boned frame. "Oh, child, he's not going to let you keep any of that," she says. Her pencil scratches at the paper unabated. "That money you earned isn't yours any more."

Viktor supposes it's not.

 

The hair stays until the wedding. Viktor is surprised, but not entirely; the Senator has always been fond of it.

"I think he likes the whole 'taming the savage' aspect," the hairdresser says as she braids and loops his hair into an intricate confectionary. She tucks a flowered comb into it, the most decoration Viktor has been allowed in some time. "He wants to marry someone he's not supposed to."

Viktor looks at himself in the mirror and _feels_ savage. The feeling that sits heavy in his stomach is uncivilized. Unmoored. Impolite. He feels as if he could eat a man's heart, the blood cascading down his throat to stain his virginal white robes. It'd never come out.

"I'll come to you after the ceremony," the hairdresser is saying as she cleans up the last trailing edges of his braids. "We'll take this all out and get it all trimmed up for you, good and proper."

Viktor says nothing.

He remembers reading that it used to be tradition that Spouses not see each other on the day they're married, but when he looks up, the Senator is leaning against the doorframe, only loosely clothed in his matrimonial robes.

"Absolutely stunning," he breathes, and the hairdresser titters as she cleans up the workspace and packs away her tools. He brushes by her as she leaves, paying her as little mind as the stars do the planets.

"Thank you, my lord," Viktor demurs.

"I cannot believe today we'll be married," the Senator says, sitting against the mirrored desk. "In front of everyone, I will have you as my Spouse, in all your splendor. Incredible."

Viktor breathes out through his nose and wills himself to smile. "I cannot wait."

The Senator's gaze is heavy. Viktor can feel it travel up his body, from his bare feet to his long hair, running over him as if it were a hand.

"I can," he says, "Just a little longer. In a few hours, I will have a Spouse. But for now… for just a little while longer, the last Courtesan I will ever see sits before me. I wonder what he'll do to send me off."

That savage feeling in Viktor's stomach grows teeth and claws, knots itself in his core and hisses, but his face is a sheet of glass. The surface of a lake. The blackness of space. Beautiful. Dangerous. 

The Senator reaches out to catch his finger in the loop of Viktor's undergarments. He pulls, and the robe falls open, baring him to the waist. Viktor sits very still.

"Be good, darling," the Senator says, trailing his finger down the curve of Viktor's chest. "You'll be a Spouse, soon. Won't you be a whore for me, one more time?"

 

Viktor only gives the Senator cause to strike him once, a few months into their marriage. _I'm sorry things have come to this,_ he'd said, afterwards, pressing an ice pack to Viktor's swollen cheek with surprisingly gentle hands. _It's within your power to change it, darling._

The Senator doesn't need to strike him twice.

 

Mornings are a simple affair. Viktor's become accustomed to waking with the Senator, sometimes before the sun has risen, and helping him with his ablutions. Sometimes the Senator partakes of his body, which is no hardship. After helping him dress, they take breakfast at the ten-person table, Viktor to the Senator's right.

Viktor used to find it hard to eat breakfast. He'd push his toast around his plate, peel an orange only to pick listlessly at the neutral-tasting synthesized fruit inside. It had strained his Spouse, though, to see him so visibly struggle with the change in his situation, so he'd forced himself to acclimate. He misses the bowls of steaming rice, the sweet sauced meats, the savoury hard-boiled eggs and tart pickled vegetables.

They rarely talk, which suits Viktor just fine. The Senator scrolls through his tablet, perusing the news of the night, and Viktor drinks tea. If there was love between them, he'd call it companionable silence. He doesn't know what he'd call it now, but sometimes he pretends that they have been married so long that they've simply lapsed into the comfort of familiarity.

Sometimes it feels as if Viktor has been married forever.

Today, as breakfast is winding down and Viktor's tea is starting to cool, the Senator turns to him with a particular look. Viktor puts down his teacup and regards his noble Spouse, his back straight and proper. "My lord?"

The Senator never does anything as base as clear his throat. He doesn't hesitate, or obfuscate his desires with needless words. Of all the things Viktor finds agreeable about his Spouse, this is the one for which he is most grateful; it makes the transactional nature of their relationship easier to bear.

"The Fellows are holding me a leaving party, two nights hence," he says, tapping at his tablet to close the news window.

"Oh," Viktor says agreeably, though the topic of their moving to Luna at all is a freshly bandaged wound. "I'm glad. Where will it be?"

The Senator regards him coolly. "It will be at the Courtesan House," he says. "Will you be ready?"

Viktor feels the blood drain from his face, an unexpected cold flush of panic. "I — I cannot return, my lord," he manages, "It is forbidden."

 _It is too painful to consider_ , his mind supplies, grateful to cling to the thin veneer of legality.

The Senator waves his hand dismissively. "And what will they do? Sakamoto has cleared it with Okukawa-san, and without her complaint, there will be no inquiry." He smiles, thinly, a show of good humour. "What will they do, hmm? Impeach me? My heart is on Luna already."

_And mine is still in that House._

"I'm not allowed," Vikor offers, weakly. "It's tradition. It wouldn't be fair to the other Courtesans."

The Senator makes a knowing noise. "Okukawa-san was quite clear; the tradition is that no ex-Courtesan _be exposed_ to their old life. Blindfolding you should suffice."

He thinks, wildly, of Yuuri lying on the tatami floor, his beautiful naked body waiting pliant under a white sheet. He'd been blindfolded then, and Viktor had looked his fill, consumed him with his eyes before doing the same with his hands, his mouth, his aching flesh. The sweet taste of him. His brave voice ringing out like a songbird as Viktor gently accepted the gift of his virginity.

And who will see Viktor like this? Hair cut, face plain, clothed in grey, a flower with its petals torn off? There's no doubt in his mind that his beautiful protege is by now the most celebrated Courtesan in the House — the only one fit to dance for a Senator's retirement.

Viktor has never minded being seen. He knows the power of a gaze. But as the cold feeling creeps down his chest and wraps around his heart, the unflinching _knowingness_ of the Senator's eyes on him is too much. _Too much_.

"Please," Viktor pleads, rising from his chair only to fall to his knees at the Senator's feet. "I cannot go."

The Senator puts down his tablet and leans back in his chair, brown eyes calm and unaffected. "It would be strange if my Spouse wasn't present at a party in my honour, wouldn't it?"

Viktor's hands come to rest on the Senator's legs. He bends his head to touch it lightly to his thigh, obsequious, begging in every line of his body. "My lord," he chokes out, "I am so grateful to you. Our marriage has never been… affectionate," Viktor swallows around the feelings of tenderness that rise at the word, at the image of Yuuri's soft smile that comes unbidden to his mind, "But you have never been _cruel_. Please. I beg you, on my hands and knees. Don't make me go. Don't make me bear it."

A hand falls on his head, playing with the shorn locks at the nape of his neck. A shudder cascades through Viktor's body at the sensation. " _My tender-hearted flower_ ," the Senator says quietly, in that language he uses when he feels generous. He strokes lightly over Viktor's head, never stopping long enough for benediction. "It will never be my intention to hurt you. You are mine, and I accept my responsibility as your Spouse to continue to allow you to enjoy the _many_ pleasures of your life."

Viktor swallows. He is selfish, he is _selfish_. "Thank you, my lord," he murmurs.

The Senator's fingers stop, nestled in Viktor's hair like he could pull, if he desired it. "I ask so little of you in return. Only what I must, and only what is my due."

Humiliatingly, Viktor feels the soft black material of the Senator's pants go damp under his eyes. "Yes, my lord. Thank you, my lord," he whispers.

The Senator tilts Viktor's head up, fingers on his chin. With his other hand, he dabs lightly at the tears welling at the corner of Viktor's eyes. "I know it pains you," he says, and though his voice is kind, it's brooks no dissent. "But I'm afraid I must insist. We leave tomorrow night, so have your things ready."

Viktor bows his head and nods, feeling one hot tear escape down his cheek.

The Senator's knuckle traces the line of the tear, then the elegant line of Viktor's jaw. At his chin, the Senator's thumb rests on Viktor's bottom lip, pulling it down slightly. Viktor sniffles, once, tilting his head up so the tears seep back under his eyelids.

"I do hate to see it," the Senator says, rubbing his thumb slowly over Viktor's lip, "But you are simply beautiful when you cry. What a marvelous creature you are."

"Thank you, my lord," Viktor whispers.

The Senator shifts in his chair, knees falling open slightly on either side of Viktor's shoulders. His thumb hooks Viktor's teeth. "I must leave soon, but I wonder… would you do something for me, darling?"

Viktor swallows again, this time in memory of the tears he can't afford to let fall. He lets himself smile. "Of course," he says, voice hitching at the end. "I serve at your pleasure."

"Beautiful," the Senator says again, and Viktor closes his eyes and does what he must.

**Author's Note:**

> I write! I draw! I make julienne fries! Your comments literally sustain me! Join me on [Tumblr](http://chaoslindsay.tumbr.com) for my fanart and other stuff!
> 
> This _particular_ fic is remix-friendly: I give blanket permission for non-commercial translations, podfics, remixes, inspired fanfic, and fanart! I only ask that, for this fic, you also ask the original author of The Courtesan, as this affects their work as well!


End file.
